


The Property of Anthologies

by Kyky25



Category: The Property of Hate
Genre: Short Stories, collection, from my tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-03-20 17:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 17,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3658932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyky25/pseuds/Kyky25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of (mostly) unrelated short stories based off the marvelous webcomic <a href="http://thepropertyofhate.com/TPoH/The%20Hook/">The Property of Hate</a>.</p>
<p>From a child playing pranks on her monster-guide, to a waltz between a pair who were never meant to be, to self-hatred personified and violent; these stories weave in and around and everywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hope for Change

**Author's Note:**

> These stories were originally posted on [my tumblr](http://kykyl25.tumblr.com) and I have quite a few more on there, but I'm going to slowly transfer them across to AO3 as well.
> 
> Feel free to leave me prompts and such in the comments. I can't promise I'll get around to them that quickly, but I'll most likely write them eventually :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RGB meets with Madras on one of his earliest attempts to save the world, still full of hope but with the first seeds of doubt planted in his mind.

“Another one already? My, you’re quick to replace things.”

The pink-haired cyclops leant against the doorframe, a smirk curving her lips as the television-headed man ushered a sleepy child inside.

“There isn’t time to waste. Her power is growing, and there is very little else to be done to stop her,” replied RGB, striding past the shorter woman to hang his hat and cane on a stand. “I’m certain that this one will be the hero we need.”

Madras opened her mouth to speak only to be interrupted by a surprisingly loud yawn from the boy that stood on the landing. He looked to be about eleven, with blonde hair and brown eyes, dressed in plain pajamas that seemed just a tad too small for him.

“Sir, where are we?” he mumbled sleepily, swaying on his feet slightly.

“At a friend’s,” answered RGB promptly before turning his head slightly to look at the merchant with an expression that would have been skeptical were it on the face of a human. “That is, if she still is a friend.”

Madras merely waved a hand dismissively at the man with a slight chuckle, closing the door and heading downstairs to the main area.

“What would ever make you think otherwise, dear RGB?” she called. RGB’s screen flickered slightly in annoyance. “Now are you going to stand by the door all night or will you come in properly?”

RGB grumbled slightly, but gestured to the new hero to follow Madras. The boy stumbled down the stairs, eyes hooded and half asleep. Upon reaching the ground floor he stood in the middle of the carpet, waiting to be told what to do. The man behind him sighed loudly, then pointed to an over-stuffed armchair in the corner of the room. The boy slowly walked over and curled up on it, falling asleep almost instantly. Thin, curling lines began to form over his head as he dreamed.

“You’ve found a very obedient one this time,” remarked Madras, watching the scene with a small amount of wonderment. “I remember the last one barely stopping to listen to anything you told her.”

“And it was her inability to listen that got her…” RGB’s voice slowly lowered in volume as he spoke, trailing off completely before he could bring himself to finish the sentence. His head hung low as he looked down on the new child, the third one to bear the title of ‘Hero’ since he started his quest.

Madras cautiously walked over, placing one hand gently on the man’s arm. Had it been but a week ago he would have jolted out of this despondency, instead is antennae merely drooped further. Colours dripped from his screen with more frequency than usual, and if Madras didn’t know better she would have sworn he was nearly crying.

“I warned you not to get attached.”

“I know, I know. But I keep bringing them here, and they keep getting killed, be it her interference or my own stupidity. What if it’s impossible?”

“Now don’t say things like that. Where’s the RGB that charged into battle? That stayed up for nights on end planning and scheming ways to overthrow her?”

“I’m starting to think he died in that battle, Madras.”

At that the lady hit him on the back of the head, the blow resonating with a loud whump! She shook the pain out of her hand and glared at the man angrily.

“What was that for!?” exclaimed RGB, rubbing the back of his head with one gloved hand and gesturing at his friend wildly, the static on his screen playing up as he stared in shock.

“For not just lying to me, but also yourself! A month ago you were jumping around everywhere in excitement when you came up with the idea of a child hero so don’t you dare say that part of you died in battle.”

The downturned test-screen began to flatten as RGB pondered those words. His antennae slowly perked up as realisation dawned in his circuits.

“You’re right.” The cyclops could hear tinges of elation in his slightly metallic voice. “Madras, you’re right!”

RGB clasped his hands around Madras’ upper arms, screen curving into a wide smile as the energy seeped back into him.

“A Hero _will_ work, we just need to make him into one! There’s no way she’ll be powerful to stop a child.”

The cyclops smiled wryly as the man released her and all but danced off. It was good to see him still so full of hope, and she prayed that it would never change.

Two days later she realised that no one had listened as a lonely RGB stumbled to her door, shirt covered in tears from the razor sharp beaks of Fears. When he left, with mended shirt and a new cane, he wasn’t the same. With the third death he had become cold, hard, like the glass and metal he was made from.

It wasn’t until he arrived with a small, unconscious girl slung over his shoulder, years later, that Madras began to hope for change again.


	2. Bird Seed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hero picks up some birdseed and decides to prank RGB. That's all there really is to say on the matter.

As RGB and Hero walked they began to notice more and more bird-like creatures in the trees and pecking at the ground. The more Hero focussed on them the more decorative and fancy their plumage became, starting as simple white dove-like creatures and morphing into birds that would put peacocks to shame.

“What are they?” asked the young girl in wonderment, gazing at one as it sprouted a particularly iridescent crimson plume.

“Notions,” replied the TV-headed man absently, doing his best to stare straight ahead at the path. “Try not to dwell on them or they’ll just become more outrageous.”

“Oh.” The Hero did her best to stare at her wellingtoned feet as they walked past the flocks, but couldn’t help sneaking glances every so often.

As the trees began to grow closer together and the path started to wind and weave in-between them it became harder to just stare at the ground without running the risk of walking into a tree. Hero started to look around the forest instead, noticing the flocks of notions tended to gather around patches of fruit that the trees were dropping. She quickly knelt down and scooped up a handful from the side of the path before RGB could notice, stuffing them in a pocket to examine later.

Eventually, night began to fall and footsteps became heavy. The unlikely pair entered a small clearing and RGB settled down with his back against a tree.

“We’ll stop here for the night. It’s not too far to the Station, but I’d rather not wander these woods in the dark.”

“Mmhm…” Hero nodded sleepily, settling herself in a patch of thick grass. Curling up and using one arm as a pillow she allowed the faint staticky snores of RGB lull her to sleep.

***

Hero woke first, as was usual. Stretching arms and smacking dry lips together she felt her clothing move differently. She remembered the fruit from yesterday and pulled it out of her pocket. They were small and round, sort of a cross between berries and figs, but white. Smushing one between a finger and thumb revealed they were full of small, pale-yellow seeds. Glancing up at RGB she had an idea and grinned wickedly.

***

“Why!?” _flapflapflap_ “Are these stupid birds!?” _whapflutterflap_ “Obsessed with- RAAAUUURGH!”  
RGB waved his arms above his head emphatically in an attempt to shoo off the dozens of notions that fluttered around his head and pecked at him. With his final yell he managed to clear them all off for a while, giving him a chance to breathe.

“-my head.”

Hero had one hand clamped over her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle the giggles that crept out. As RGB stood there, panting and annoyed, another small bird landed next to his antennae and began to peck jerkily at his hat.

The man didn’t react for several seconds until with another incoherent yell he grabbed the hat and batted the bird, then proceeded to run screaming at the nearest flock. The fanciful birds took wing and flew off, presumably to find a different part of the forest where they wouldn’t be disturbed by an outraged RGB.

Hero couldn’t contain her laughter anymore, falling to the ground and rolling about as guffaws shook her body. RGB quickly turned in alarm at the sudden sound, but fell back to puzzlement at the small girl’s antics.

“And what, pray tell, is so hilarious?” he asked derisively, leaning over the giggling girl. Hero couldn’t find the breath to answer so she merely shoved one shaking hand in a pocket to pull out a couple of seed-filled fruit. When this didn’t shed light on the man’s bewilderment she pointed up at the straw hat RGB still held in a gloved hand.

The very worst monster straightened up, bringing the hat close to his screen and inspecting it. As he looked he could just see small seeds stuck to the straw and coating the hat completely. He gave Hero a withering glare.

“Why…”

Hero pulled herself back to her feet, wiping tears away with the palm of a hand as the occasional laugh still shook her body.

“I thought...hah...it would...be funny!”

“There are times that I loathe you.”

Hero merely gave the man a huge grin and started to walk along the path again. RGB gave her back a calculating look then followed, brushing the seeds off his hat as they walked towards their next adventure.


	3. Negative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams are dangerous for RGB, in more than one way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for self-hatred and minor violence.

_You know you’re going to fail again, right?_

The voice was always there. RGB tried to ignore it, he really did, but when your own voice echoes around in your head it’s hard to not believe it sometimes.

_Do you think this one will die as painfully as the last? Or maybe they’ll be drained of belief and become a walking husk. Which one ended up like that again? The eighteenth? Or was it the 37th?_

“Shut up,” growled RGB quietly as he stalked the rooftops of London, looking for a new hero. It was dangerous, and not just because of the sloping tiles and long falls. Tilting his head he could see the faint squiggles of dreams seeping out of window cracks and chimneys.

_Oh, so you’re talking to me now? Or are you just talking to yourself? I’d say it’s the first sign of madness but you and I passed that long ago._

“I said, _shut up!_ ”

Sparks flickered in the air as the anger fueled static electricity. The energy crackled, seeming to have a life of it’s own in the dream-laden air until it flared. There was a bright flash of light, and suddenly a mirror image of the TV-headed man stood in front of him.

However, the mirror was cracked and distorted.

“Now this is interesting…” muttered the negative, waving its fingers about and watching the trails they left in the air. The monster pressed a hand against a nearby chimney and it passed straight through. RGB merely stared in shock.

“What… how…” he stuttered. The negative grinned maliciously.

“Dreams, my dear brother. Dreams.” He strode forward until he was screen to screen with his coloured self, the grey-scaled test bars flickering with a small amount of static as he spoke. “And I may not be physical, but that doesn’t mean a dream cannot _hurt_.”

It punctuated the last word with a shove to the chest, hands connecting with RGB and sending him tumbling backwards towards the edge of the roof. With a snap of the fingers a cane was summoned and the negative strolled towards the fallen man, seeming to hover just above the solid surface rather than stepping on it.

RGB scrambled to pick himself up, to get away from the ledge, but the end of a cane pressed down on the base of his throat, pinning him. The world started to fade into black and white as the man struggled beneath the seemingly impossible weight of his dark side.

“Pl- urk- ease…” he garbled.

“I’m sorry, what did you say? I can’t hear you.” The negative leant down close, increasing the pressure on the cane as his smile vanished in a cloud of static. “ _Just as you never heard me_.”

“Please!” choked out RGB, glad he no longer needed to breathe as he used to. The pressure eased up, but the cane stayed to pin him.

“Please what.” stated the negative flatly.

RGB froze unsure how to answer. After several seconds of silence the negative lifted the cane off the fallen man, turning away. RGB propped himself up on his elbow, but didn’t stand.

“I’ll make a deal with you.” His voice was distorted by even more static than usual. “I won’t bother you anymore. No talking, no hurting, I’ll even help you with your latest ‘Hero’.”

At this he turned back to RGB, the static covering his screen seeming to make circle-like patterns, the test-bar mouth gone completely. The negative offered a hand to the fallen man to help him up. RGB didn’t take it, choosing to stay on the ground.

“What do you want in return?” he asked suspiciously.

Suddenly his hand was clasped tight in his negative’s glove and he uas upright, staring into the staticky version of an eye that covered the whole screen. RGB tried to pull away in fear but his muscles were locked as he felt the sharp contrast of black and white seeping through his system, swallowing his colour.

“ _You._ ”

And then he was falling into nothing and he was nothing and there was something cold and dark and wet swallowing him and dragging him down and then-

RGB woke with a start, quickly flapping his hands about his vents to shoo away any residual dreams that had gotten into him. He had let his guard down and paid the price. As he stood to continue his mission, searching for another child hero, he realised something was missing. The only thoughts in his head were his own, no other voices spoke to him.

The silence scared him more than the voice ever could.


	4. I *have* tried

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RGB thinks back to his previous attempts at getting home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From page 158. RGB's line hit me hard and I ended up staying up way too late because I needed to get this idea out of my head and onto paper.

RGB cradled his head in his hands, groaning at the stubbornness and stupidity of those surrounding him.

“Look, Hero; I cannot take you back home. I just can’t,” he said tersely, trying and failing to stay even-tempered.

“But how do you know?” asked the girl while placing the boater hat back on RGB’s head. “You haven’t tried yet.”

His antennae drooped immediately at the innocent remark, a wave of guilt and bad memories crashing through him. 

***

“Hello?”

A newly formed monster stood in the plains of hesitation, spinning about in the tall grass, looking for signs of life.

“Is there anyone there?” His voice (Was that his voice? It sounded… crackly) was swallowed up by the air, nothing for it to reverberate from.

“Where am I?” he asked himself, reaching up a hand to scratch the back of his head. He didn’t get to complete the habitual gesture, however, when his fingers met with hard plastic rather than hair and skin.

The man panicked for several seconds, his other hand flying up and feeling around wildly at the television set that had replaced his head. It wasn’t until he reached his face that he noticed something else was off.

“AaaahhhhhhHHHHH!” The scream rose sharply in volume as the man stared at his hands, or rather, where his hands should have been. He should still feel them, move them, but they were completely invisible. The man shoved up the sleeve of his jacket and shirt, staring at an arm that should have been there with eyes that would have been wide if they had existed. The man crumpled onto the ground, cradling his new head in invisible hands as dirt stained the knees of his trousers.

“No no nonono no _no_ …” he mumbled to himself, shoulders shaking as bright colours began to leak from his screen. He couldn’t remember what happened, or even who he really was; he just knew he needed to get _home_.

*

Several months (Years? Decades? Time was strange in this place) later the man had changed. Yes, he was still the charming, happy-go-lucky man hiding his insecurities behind a dazzling smile and sharp dress sense; but he was also the monster armed with a rather special cane, a pair of white gloves, a lot of knowledge of this strange world and a new name.

He also had a rather special key in his pocket, and only one thought in his head.

_Home._

RGB found the land of clouds of doorframes that had been described to him easily. As he strode past the glimmering frames he clutched tightly at the key, feeling it grow warmer as he came closer to the door he needed. Suddenly, he halted.

The key was burning his hand, but RGB paid no attention. He stood in front of a doorframe, but something was different. This one had an ornate knob floating in the air, a black hole for a key hovering just below.

Tentatively, he pulled his hand out of his pocket, bringing the key with it. As he inserted it into the lock the frame shimmered and grew bright enough to blind. Instinctively, RGB looked away, shielding his screen with an arm. Once the glow faded he stared at the plain white door with a yellow star painted at head-height. It was tacky and cheap and oh-so recognisable.

RGB could have sworn he heard voices coming from behind the door. People yelling and rushing and a voice so familiar it hurt whispering gentle nothings to him. The colours on the man’s screen curved upwards in a huge smile as he reached for the handle.

He was still there an hour later, kneeling on the ground and crying, a doorway leading to nothing but more clouds and frames before him.

***

RGB stared up at the girl, unsure how to reply. He turned his head away, despite having one of the best poker faces in the land he didn’t trust himself to keep it together completely. It didn’t help that she was still so young and curious and innocent, either.

“I…” he hesitated, voice wavering. “have tried.”

This was met by silence all round, so RGB cleared his throat and shook off the memories, quickly falling back into his regular act.

“Besides, we need this to replace your coat; I plan to exchange it for some amour,” he said briskly, pointing towards the ball of █████ he held up.

“Armour?” repeated Hero in wonderment, previous statements already forgotten.

“Something like that.”

RGB carefully steered the conversation away from any mentions of home and his past, convincing Hero to continue on the quest after all. She did not need to know about the things that had happened, the things he had done, before she entered this world. Not now, not ever.


	5. Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RGB discovers a roomful of instruments in the House of Paint. Madras discovers that he's a very good dancer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for this story is [Dreamcatcher (Slow Waltz)](https://www.youtube.com/watch/?v=aUMj32O5glM#Dreamcatcher_\(Slow_Waltz\)). I thought the name fitting.

RGB had stopped by the House of Paint to replenish his stock of nightmares before his next journey to find a child hero. He wandered among the aisles of vials, inspecting the vast collection. Turning a corner he found himself in a small room with a baby grand piano off to one side and several instrument cases propped up against a wall.

Intrigued by the objects he walked over, gently running a gloved hand over the ivories as memories of a past life flowed through his mind. As his fingers skimmed they keys they hesitantly picked out a mournful, familiar tune.

“I didn’t know you played.”

“Madras!” RGB whirled around at the quiet statement, elbow banging against the fallboard and sending it crashing down to cover the keys. He winced at the noise, smiling awkwardly at the cyclops in apology. “I was just exploring, I didn’t realise you had such a collection.”

“Not every one of my customers are able to pay in ink, RGB.” Madras commented as she strolled over and opened the cover again. “Self-playing instruments are just one of the many ‘thank you’s I’ve gotten over the years.”

“Self playing?”

The merchant smiled slyly and tapped a manicured nail over a small notch on the music rack. An instant later the tune RGB had played earlier began to ring through the air as the piano keys were pressed down by invisible forces. It started slow and quiet, but soon gained confidence as the music continued into the rest of the piece that RGB hadn’t played.

The TV-headed man stilled at the melody, his fingers twitching in time with the notes and mouth flat as he was lost in memories. Madras smiled at the sight, then walked over and quietly opened up one of the instrument cases and pulled out a violin. She set it on a stand and tapped the notch to set it playing. It quickly filled in the gaps left by the piano, creating a beautiful harmony.

Madras repeated the process with a couple more string instruments, creating a self-playing quartet. When she turned back to her guest something about his stance and expression told her that he was crying, although without eyes there were no tears. Maybe it was the cyan ink dripping from his screen a little faster than normal. She placed a hand to his upper arm, the touch jerking him out of his reverie.

“Do you dance?” she asked, smile a touch warmer and less sarcastic than usual.

“Of course,” replied RGB, a note of irritation crackling in his voice before he softened. “Just not normally… to this…”

“Show me.” The man bristled at the hint of challenge in Madras’ words, sorrows pushed to the back of his mind.

He took one of the merchant’s hands in his own, placing his other on her waist. Madras reached up to his shoulder and at the next swell in the music they began their waltz. Neither had danced in decades, or even longer, but as they moved together not a beat was missed nor foot misplaced.

RGB, stiff at first, soon loosened up and lost himself in the music and the movement, allowing Madras to step in just a little closer. As the melody enveloped the pair they forgot about the cramped room, the unbought nightmares, the darkness unravelling the land outside. All the world consisted of was the waltz, and the warmth of their partner’s hand in their own.

The dance went on for an eternity but the music ended far too soon, and with it the trance-like state of the dancers. RGB pulled himself back into the present to find his arm completely wrapped around Madras; her head was pressed up against his chest as she listening to a heart that no longer beat. When he went to pull away she fisted a lapel of his forest green jacket and stopped him.

“They’ll start up again in a minute,” she whispered, eye closed. “We don’t have to stop.”

RGB hesitated, frowning, then shook his head slightly and carefully pried the cyclops’ hands free. However, he didn’t let go of them just yet. Madras looked up at his screen, her eye slightly glassy.

“We both have things we need to do,” said RGB gently. “Because this story’s not yet through; and though you’re alone and I am too; we know this waltz is not for you.”

“Did you make that up on the spot or do you write these down somewhere?” smirked Madras, attempting to lighten the mood. The very worst monster merely frowned and her smile soon disappeared as she hung her head. “I know it isn’t, but a girl can dream can’t she?”

RGB wrapped her up into a brief hug, pouring all the apologies he couldn’t word into the gesture. He immediately turned away when he let go, not wanting to see the hurt he caused. After a second Madras strode past him purposefully, doing her best not to look at the man either.

“Let’s get those nightmares sorted now, shall we?” she said coolly, heading back to the main vial room. RGB followed mutely, for once not wanting the last word. They both resolutely ignored the instruments starting up again, playing the waltz that neither would ever have the perfect partner for ever again.


	6. Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Assock is one happy little sock.

Assok could not be happier. Or at least, he didn’t think he could. His thoughts always seemed a bit fuzzy, making it a bit hard to speak sometimes, but he knew that he was happy as he rode around in the pocket of the brown girl’s new coat.

He had friends again (Again? Did he have someone before? He wasn’t always alone, there was something else he’d- ugh, too fuzzy) and he was seeing new sights (“Tri! Tri!” “Does he have to yell at everything we walk past?” “He’s just happy, right Assok?” “Hah pee!”) and it was cozy and warm where he lay (like the thing that tumbled and spun and made him soft).

He let out a contented hum, snuggling deeper into the pocket. As he was on the very verge of falling a pinkish glow seeped throughout his fabric, wrapping him in a warm and slightly bubbly haze. Assok took no notice of it, choosing to slip into his sock-like dreams instead. The glow hovered around him for a while longer before drifting up and out of the pocket, forming into something a little more solid as it trailed behind the travellers.

*

“What’s that thing?”

Hero pointed at the soft-pink ball of fluff that edged its way towards the resting pair. It didn’t look like something to be scared of so she gently scooped it up in both hands. It blinked two black button eyes at her curiously and began to hover slightly above her palms.

“That would be a bliss, though I’m not sure what it’s doing out here; we’re miles away from anyone.”

The girl tickled the bliss with a finger, finding it’s fur was far longer than it looked. It jiggled in the air slightly, turning a light blue and closing it’s eyes. It let out a serene sigh, then floated out of Hero’s hand and bobbed around on the ground gently.

“Do they live near people?”

“In a way, they tend to form around people who are very happy, and I rather doubt that’s either of us.”

“Huh.”

The pair watched the fluff-ball meander about the grass and bushes, returning to it’s original pale pink. Eventually they dismissed it, though a curious sight it was nothing dangerous or overly interesting. Meanwhile, a yellowish sock turned over in a pocket and began to snore gently.


	7. Guardian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A guardian angel watches over a lonely man.  
> Takes place in an AU before RGB died.

The young angel flitted among the clouds with glee before zooming down. She was finally old enough to get her Assignment! The tips of feathered wings skimmed the long grass of the Garden as she zipped towards Azraiel’s hall to get the true name of her Assignment.

As soon as the shining piece of paper was placed in her hand she was off again, heading towards the portals that would take her to the human world. Tumbling through the doorways she couldn’t wipe the grin off her face. Okay, so it was a bit of a strange name, but that just made her Assignment extra special, right?

The Angel arrived in a hospital, invisible and intangible, where she floated through the wards until she felt the paper clenched tightly in her fist start to tingle. _This was it!_

He was a very normal looking baby, pudgy and unformed like a lump of bread dough, but the Angel knew he was perfect. At least until he started bawling. The Angel quickly tapped him on the nose, sending a sparkle of sleep to quieten the child.

"You’re just a little monster, aren’t you?" she asked herself quietly, not used to not being heard by those around her. A wry smile curled her lips. "But you’re _my_ little monster now, and I’m going to take care of you. Promise.”

And so she did. When he was a young boy the tree branches he climbed on never broke, however unable to take his weight they might have seen. Injuries were never bad and healed quickly. The sticks and rocks thrown by other boys always fell short. It was only a pity the Angel couldn’t block their words as well.

The boy grew into a man, charming and dapper and broken inside, but he would never admit that to anyone. The Angel grew closer to him, watching over the child she had promised protection to all those years ago. She talked to him while he slept, read the books he left scattered around his home, played games with the few childhood toys he refused to part with.

In short, she grew to see him less as an Assignment and more as a friend.

So when he didn’t look where he was going when crossing the road and an invisible force pushed him out of the way of the oncoming car she knew she wouldn’t get in trouble. He still had so much life to live, right? And the whole point of a guardian angel is to guard them from harm, right?

Okay, maybe the piece of paper announcing the date had been torn into shreds and scattered into the breeze, but she was only doing her job.

The next paper was delivered by hand, the older angel giving her a calculating look before heading back to their world. The Angel ‘lost track of the date’ and her charge escaped the bar fight with little more than a broken nose.

"Don’t worry, my monster, it suits you," she whispered into his ear that night. "and it’ll heal fast, I’m sure you’ll be fine."

The next time she didn’t get a piece of paper. A tall, grim angel with coal wings appeared, saying something about making sure she didn’t mess up this time. But an unexpected gust of wind and an escaping hat led the man down a different path. Away from the muggers waiting around the other corner.

The coal angel took hold of the girl’s arm and with one hard flap of his wings they rocketed towards the portal, the guardian Angel fighting all the way. She was brought to the hall, head bowed but eyes burning bright with fury beneath chestnut locks.

"Stripped of wings… revoke grace… watch Assignment’s fate-"

"No!"

But despite the uproar she so desperately wished to create she was still naught but a young Angel, and there were so many others more powerful than she. Her stubbornness did her well, but it was a lost battle from the beginning.

Pale yellow wings tattered and spirit all but broken, the Angel was held in mid-air above the river to watch the scene play out beneath her. Golden tears dripped from her chin, but not a noise was made.

See, without his Angel to whisper silly little nothings and promises of protection and gentle reassurances into his ear as he slept the man began to fall apart. He had other people, yes, and they were wonderful distractions; but he was still broken underneath his masking smile. And then the people left. And then he was truly alone.

He smiled as he climbed onto the edge of the bridge, made a show of getting ready to dive. Cameras were rolling after all, he had to stay in-character to the very end. Then he jumped, and the only person who knew his lie was trapped.

But with a sudden yank of her arms she wasn’t. The Angel fell towards the water, wings useless and aching. She hit the water barely a second after her friend with nary a splash, but he had already sunken deep. The girl cried out for him, reached for him, willed the last sparks of her magic to give him breath, hope, bravery.

Life.

The grim angels caught up, scooping her struggling form out of the river and stripping the last of her feathers. They dissolved into gold dust as they hit the water, sinking down to coat the body of the ex-angel’s charge. They carried with them the last spark of her power, her last wish.

In another world a man, a monster, awoke with the feeling that something, someone, was missing.


	8. Please Wake Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hero can’t get RGB to wake up, and something seems very wrong about this new girl.
> 
> (Warning for implied character death)

“RGB? RGB, wake up.” The young girl knelt beside the fallen monster, hands hovering over his torso. Eventually she worked up the courage to touch him. His clothes felt fake, thin, papery under her trembling fingers. She pushed gently at his shoulder, shaking him slightly. “RGB?”

At her touch the man’s head lolled to the side, leaving Hero to stare at a battered and damaged television. A thin but long crack snaked up from the bottom of the screen, magenta ink seeping out. As Hero watched, eyes wide and unblinking, a drop trailed down the edge of the plastic and fell onto the sandy ground, dissipating against the soil. The clear tears that followed not long after didn’t vanish quite so well.

“RGB! RGB, you have to get up!” She grabbed his whole arm -it felt so _wrong_ , why didn’t it feel like fabric anymore?- and frantically shook him, his whole body rocking. “Stop playing around, this isn’t like you! RGB, wake up, _please!_ ”

Hero’s hands flew up to clutch at her face, tears seeping through the gaps between fingers as violent, hiccough-like sobs jolted through her frame. She still stared at her guide’s prone form, although it grew ever more blurry and distorted until she remembered to blink.

When her eyes cleared she noticed the normally bright colours that graced RGB’s clothes was fading, no, _draining_ away. The crack on his face still leaked, a rainbow of hues steadily dripping out and onto the ground. All that remained as the colour fell away was plain white paper with the ghosts of words barely visible across the pages.

“No,” whimpered Hero softly. “No no no no no no…”

She cupped her hands under the dripping ink, a small amount of puddled rainbow pooling in her palms. Quickly, lest any of it seep between her fingers, Hero splashed it over colourless trousers only for it to drip off and fade into nothing. A memory of a test-screen smile leaking paint that never stained flashed through the girl’s mind. She fruitlessly tried to pour the ink back into the fallen man, tears mixing with the liquid as it was tipped onto shirt, screen, even into the vents on the side of his head, but all to no avail.

Hero curled into a tiny ball, alone in an unknown place. She wished for Madras’ comforting smile, for Assok’s cheery voice, even for TOby’s pessimistic advice. But they were all gone, long gone, and now the last person she had left was gone as well. However, she wasn’t quite right in every respect.

She wasn’t quite alone.

Something dashed past Hero, just brushing past her as it moved in a blur. Hero’s head jerked up, the girl instantly alert as she glanced around looking for the source of the movement. There is was again! A flash of yellow and pink darted through her peripheral vision, causing the child to whip her head around in surprise.

When she saw nothing she slowly turned back to face the bo- _no, he’s not dead, it’s not a body_ \- turned back to face RGB to find a young girl of eleven or so standing over him, peering down at the prone form. As if feeling Hero’s gaze on her the older girl looked up with a smile, blonde ringlets tumbling over slim shoulders and blue eyes sparkling cheerfully.

“Wretched, isn’t it?” asked the stranger, still smiling.

“Huh?” Hero blinked several times to clear her vision, utterly confused by the appearance of this new person.

“These old sets break far too easily.” The blonde poked at RGB with the toe of a shoe, back to studying the self-proclaimed very worst monster. “Ah well, at least it managed to bring you to me first.”

“Who are you?”

“It’s been a while since he brought the last one, and this one’s gotten a bit…”

For a split-second the girl seemed to turn into something else, flashing into a version where hair hung ragged and unwashed, clothes were torn and stained with red and black fluids, cuts and bruises marred pale skin and eyes burned with an icy fire. Hero scrubbed at her eyes, doubting what she had seen as all that stood in front of her was a well-dressed girl with a cheery smile.

“…damaged.”

Hero stood cautiously, hands clenched into tight fists as she glared at the other girl from beneath her bangs. Something was off about her, and if there was one thing Hero had learnt from her time here it was to trust her instincts and take nothing at face value.

“Who. Are. You.”

“Oh! He didn’t tell you?” The older girl looked up as if just remembering the brunette. An overly dramatic expression of shock graced her face before she grinned sinisterly. “I’m the one who you were brought here to defeat.”

The girl, no, the monster strolled casually around RGB, stepping on his drooped antennae as she passed. Her lips pursed in a pout as she continued.

“But I’m afraid that’s just not going to happen now. Not when you haven’t got the power, and especially not when he’s out of the picture. I made sure of that.”

Hero gasped.

“ _You_ killed RGB?” The girl-shaped monster shrugged.

“Serves him right for stealing all those keys.”

“I… I-I…” she stuttered, fingernails digging into the palm of her hands and eyes flickering back and forth between the two monsters as she tried to process the flurry of emotions that swamped her. “I-I…. I HATE YOU!”

Hero was about to attack the other girl, ready to pounce with fists and teeth as rage clouded her vision, when suddenly the monster was mere inches away. Her eyes burned as she grinned gleefully.

“Good. That only makes this easier for me.”

And then Hero was no more.


	9. Strife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hero suddenly attacks RGB.
> 
> (Based off [this spectacular art](http://sohanna-the-doorstop.tumblr.com/image/110479401048) by sohanna-the-doorstop)

This was not the Hero RGB had been travelling with for weeks. That Hero didn’t break the necks of Fears as if they were twigs, she didn’t move like a hungry predator, and she most certainly didn’t look at him through eyes burning with pure, unadulterated _hate_.

“H-Hero! Get a grip on yourself!”

_Schinngg!_ She wielded the heads of the deceased Fears as blades, their razor beaks slicing the air deftly.

“Now I-I know we don’t always- aah!” _shhinng!_ “-get along but I still don’t see why-” _snik!_ “-you’re attacking me!”

Hero’s stony expression was unmoving as she leapt at her guide, makeshift swords swinging with unnerving accuracy. RGB ducked and dodged, narrowly avoiding the attacks. He dived to the side, rolling back to his feet and raising his cane. The swing aimed at his neck thnked into the wood, cutting out a large chunk. The man parried the next blow the same way, still trying to talk to the girl

“Hero! Why-” _thnk!_ “-are-” _thnk!_ “-you-” _thnk!_ “-attacking-” _thnk!_ “-me?!”

_Schnik!_

The cane fell in two, RGB dropping it and trying to scurry away. The blades zinged overhead and he ducked, but not fast enough. The monster let out a yelp of pain, hand raised to clutch at his head as the tips of antennae tinkled to the ground. Distracted, he barely missed the next slice, the blade tearing a long gash down his sleeve.

Realising he needed to try a new tactic, the TV-headed man dove _towards_ the errant Hero, catching her off-guard. She stepped to the side, bringing the Fear-heads into a guarding stance as RGB tumbled past and began to run.

After a second she gave chase.

Despite him having the advantage of long legs and a history of cowardice, Hero stayed close on the heels of her prey. It was almost… _inhuman._

RGB halted in his tracks at the thought, whirling around to take another look at the girl. She stopped as well, crouching like a tiger readying to pounce. Her eyes burned red with hatred as she stared at her guide. _Literally red._

“…you’re not Hero.” breathed RGB as he saw Her eyes where the child’s should have been. For the first time since the Fears attacked Hero’s face moved, one corner of her mouth twitching up into a smirk. The man shook his head at the terrifying sight, speaking louder. “You’re not Hero.”

He was trying to back away now unable to tear his gaze away from Her. A hissing voice emanated from the aether, Hero’s body shifting as She spoke.

_‘Thief…’_

The sound was quiet, barely a hint on the breeze.

_‘Trickster…’_

Louder now, but still but a whisper.

_‘Liar…’_

She had stolen Hero’s voice, RGB could hear it as She spoke.

_‘No’_

The child leapt towards the monster, both blades slicing down. RGB jumped back, hands instinctively raising to protect himself. Her word was a shout now.

_‘More’_

Another slice, this one easily avoided. The voice was almost deafening, reverberating across the plains.

_‘LIES’_

A wave of power slammed into RGB and for the first time in decades he felt winded. He didn’t see the spray of luminescent ink splashing out of his body in a surge of colour, but as he fell to his knees he noticed how the burgundy of his coat had faded to a slate grey.

“H̘̲͕̋̐-H̘̲͕̋̐e̜̖͓̓ͮͫ̽r͉͕̉̌ò̘̬́ͨ̏͛̚ͅͅ,” he sputtered, static almost obscuring his voice completely. “f̳͎͉̹͍͚̲̈̎͋̒̚ỉ̭̳̮̂̈g̊́h̝̞̻̔ͮț̼̙̣͍̰ͧ ̜̔̂̋ͤ͋͗h̫͒e̥̰̙̞̟͕ͦͤ́ͤ̆̌͗r͓͚̤̗̤͓̟ͫ…”

Then with a slight whine his screen went black.

The puppet-Hero strode over to where the man had fallen, nudging the limp body onto it’s back with the flat of a fear-blade. Still smirking, she looked down at the monster, red eyes flickering with glee now the last pillar of resistance had crumbled. Rainbow ink stained the ground, sticking to green wellies as She paced around the corpse.

But then the screen flickered back to life.

Negative darted a black gloved hand up, grabbing the wrist of the unsuspecting puppet and holding fast. Pitch ink seeped upwards, defying gravity as a radial eye blazed on his screen. The girl tried to jerk away, but the monster’s strength was greater even than what Hate could pour into her host. The second blade swung up, the possessed girl readying to plunge it into the Negative’s chest. He seized that hand as well, bending it back just far enough to force her to drop the sword.

The pair froze there for several seconds, stuck in a tableu as red eyes burned into a colourless vision.

Then Negative wrapped his arms around the girl and hugged her.

The puppet-Hero stiffened in shock at the action, but as a gentle hum of static filled her ears and the familiar smell of pennies wafted into her nose something in her began to let go. A memory of distorted words echoed in her mind.

“ _Fight her._ ”

And so Hero did. Her eyes closed and she shoved at the other _thing_ invading her head, controlling her body. It clawed and scratched and tried to cling, to take back control, but as the warmth from the embrace saturated the girl’s body it became harder and harder for it to stay.

The young girl fought as best she could, body instinctively leaning in to the monster holding her as she pushed out the creature from her mind. Hero was so busy with this internal struggle that she didn’t notice Negative scoop her up and cradle her in his arms.

When she finally opened her eyes they were budding with tears, and all she could do for several minutes was curl closer to her protector’s chest and cry. They may have won this fight, but it wasn’t over yet.


	10. Ticklish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RGB finds a way to get his own back after all of Hero's pranks, teasing and generally not listening.

RGB discovered Hero was ticklish when he had to pull her out of the swamp. She thought that running ahead and not looking where she was going had been a good idea, which ended up with her stuck waist-deep in mud.

“Honestly, you’d think that you would listen to me occasionally. You really have no one to blame here but yourself.”

“You didn’t tell me it was muddy, you just said ‘don’t run ahead’. And you tell me not to do so much anyway.”

“And you should listen. There’s a reason I warn you about things. Now come one, we’re wasting time.”

“I can’t”

“What.”

“I’m stuck”

“Stuk!”

“Yes, Assok, I heard her the first time.” RGB rubbed one gloved hand across the top of his screen in frustration. He just knew this was going to end badly. “Reach out your hands, I’ll pull you out.”

It was a bit of a stretch as RGB refused to move even a millimetre off the safety of the path, but soon enough he had Hero’s hands grasped in his own. As he pulled the mud seemed to suck back at the small girl, rippling along her sides and bubbling.

“Stop… squirming! You’re only making this… harder.” grunted the monster, trying his best to keep a good grip on the child.

“I- hee hee- I can’t! It tickles!”

“Oh that’s… just… _great!_ ” With one last heave Hero came out with a _pop!_ and went flying into the man, spattering mud everywhere. “Ugh.”

RGB brushed off as much as he could, mostly smearing it into his clothes and making it worse. Heaving a sigh he looked down at the girl, who was caked in the stuff and grinning.

“What’s so funny?”

“tso fun nee?”

“This!”

And then Hero chucked the handful of mud she held at RGB’s screen. He didn’t get the chance to react in time and it landed with a dull splat. Antennae drooped as he squinted at the mischievous child through the dirt. Calmly, he pulled out his kerchief and wiped away the worst of the mess, one corner of his mouth pulled slightly up as an idea festered in his mind.

“Very funny,” he replied dryly before his screen curved into a cold and vaguely menacing smile. “But we cannot continue until you’re clean now, can we? Here, let me _help!_ ”

At the last word RGB pounced at Hero, who darted underneath his lanky legs. The man twisted around and managed to snag a hold of the girl’s top, dragging her closer. Then he got revenge in the best way he could think of.

He tickled her.

“S-sto- aahahahhah- stop it!”

“Sorry, stop what?”

“Stop- ahahehehhehee…”

The girl trailed off into uncontrollable giggles, barely able to catch her breath as RGB grinned and continued poking at her. Assok even joined in as best he could, shuffling over Hero’s face and neck, causing the brunette to bat at her head as she squirmed on the ground.

“Stoppit! Stoppit!” yelled the sock gleefully throughout the tickle-torture. Eventually they tired themselves out, leaving Hero gasping for breath and RGB chuckling slightly with a wide grin curving across his screen. The TV-headed man leant back on an arm, starting at the sky.

“We really should be getting on,” he muttered, nearly to himself. It was another minute or so before he picked himself up, however. He didn’t notice the fuzzy mass that had worked it’s way into his clothes until it started to squirm around.

“Ahah! Ahehehee! Aaahh!”

He grabbed at the lump that squirmed around his torso and pulled Assok out of his shirt. RGB held the sock up to his screen and stared derisively at it for several seconds before tossing it into Hero’s hands. The girl was giggling again.

“This isn’t over, is it?”


	11. Thirty Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madras makes a deal with Hate to bring RGB back to life. But no deal comes without strings attached to it.

“Are you sure you want to do this? All for some silly little freak of a man who doesn’t even love you back?”

Madras tried not to flinch at the woman’s words, chills running down the merchant’s spine at the cold breath of Hate. Eye closed, she nodded, disregarding the honey-yellow tear that ran down her cheek to splash on the staticky suit of the dead man lying before her.

“I’m certain.”

“Hmm,” Hate paused for a second, pondering the resolute stubbornness radiating from Madras, before tapping one clawed finger on the cyclops’ chest and drawing a silver line of life from her to RGB’s prone form. “Very well then. You’ll have thirty nights before he drains you completely, and then I get what’s left. Good luck.”

Then with that final menacing taunt she faded into the shadows, the darkness seeping out of the room after her. Madras was left kneeling over an unconscious - _only unconscious, not dead, not anymore_ \- RGB; her manicured hand felt the slight electric buzz running through his chest once more.

As the pink-haired merchant watched a faint silvered light began to shine from the cracks in the man’s screen, fading with the fissures. Pixelated blemishes on his normally transparent skin healed. Madras watched all the while, seeing the colour,the life, seep back into the monster she loved; ignoring the dull ache she felt in her own chest.

RGB would wake up in another ten minutes, head splitting and no memory of what had happened. Another hero dead, another mission failed. He still didn’t listen to Madras’ advice to stop, give up, stay here. The next time the very worst monster stopped by the House of Paint, suit ragged and nightmare short, the woman was pale and sickly. Seeing his friend is such a state is what finally made him stop. _Only for a few days,_ he told himself, _time is running out and I can’t afford to hesitate long._

But it would only take three nights before he wouldn’t have to worry about Madras’ health again. He’d been gone for weeks, after all.

Despite feeling as if the life had been sucked out of her - it had, after all - the cyclops was still determined to spend her time with RGB as best she could. They sat in front of a cosy fireplace at night, the man reading aloud while she struggled to keep her eye open. During the day he helped take stock of her wares, even going so far as to serve the lone customer searching for a dream.

They chattered all the while, about meaningless things mostly. Purposefully. Neither wanted to mention how Madras wasn’t getting better, why RGB kept staring at the door.

And then it was evening on the thirtieth day since the TV-headed man was killed again. And then she had to tell him. But she couldn’t. So she stood on her toes, wrapped weak arms around an invisible neck and, before he could react, kissed him.

RGB panicked when he felt the tender love behind the kiss, but he panicked more as he felt the life drain out of her. Within seconds he was kneeling on the floor, the empty husk of Madras cradled in his arms. The bright ink staining her lips was a sharp contrast to the grey of her skin.

He didn’t react as a myriad of shadows oozed into the room, snuffing out the fire and rendering the world in sharp black and white. It wasn’t until he could feel the chill breath of Hate on the back of his neck that he spoke.

“I want to make a deal.”


	12. Save the Last Dance for Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RGB remembers a time spent with someone he once loved.

_“Remember when we would dance, RGB?”_

_“Hmm?”_

_“When every song was our song and tolling bells didn’t matter because neither did time. Back when, even if the band had long since packed up and left, we’d stand and sway and you’d sing under your breath. You had a lovely singing voice.”_

_“Hmm…”_

_The pair of object-heads lazed around on the grass, Magnus leaning against a tree with his partner’s head in his lap. As the ex-magician spoke one hand ran over RGB’s casing, gently stroking around the base of his antennae and eliciting the content hums from the man._

_Suddenly the prism-head jumped up, feet hovering just off the ground and a glint of excitement shining in his vertices. RGB’s head fell to the ground with a soft_ thwump! _and he sat up, rubbing behind his vents. His test-screen mouth wavered in an irritated scowl, but when he saw the dark grey hand extended towards him the monster took it and stood with only a slight grumble._

_“Sing for me.”_

_“Magnus, you know I don’t sing. Not since, well, not anymore.”_

_The wizard pulled RGB close, bodies flush against each other, and leant down to whisper into where the shorter man’s ear would have been. With his arms wrapped tightly around his partner Magnus could feel the slight shivers running through RGB as he spoke._

_”_ Sing for me. _“ This time there was only a slight hesitation before the TV-headed man complied._

_"You can dance every dance with the guy,_   
_Who gives you the eye, let him hold you tight._   
_You can smile every smile for the man,_   
_Who held your hand ‘neath the pale moonlight._

_"But don’t forget who’s taking you home,_   
_And in whose arms you’re going to be._   
_So darling, save the last dance for me.”_

_As the quiet melody rang through the clearing the pair swayed, neither noticing the haze of rainbow-tinged lights slowly enveloping them; both were too busy relishing the feel of the other in their arms._

*

RGB stood alone on a rooftop, surveying the city for an open window, a new child. Faint strains of music echoed from a room below him. Spying a house that seemed promising the monster crouched slightly and readied himself to leap, but before he could take off something in the back of his mind made him pause and listen.

When he put more attention in the music he could make out the words. RGB stood again, head tilted and mouth curved down. Awareness of just how alone he was crept over him and one arm came up to wrap over his belly in a sort-of hug.

Then the man shook his head and crouched again, this time taking off towards his newest hero. If his ink dripped a bit more than usual, so what?

It’s not like that was the last dance he’ll ever have, right?


	13. Diary of a Ragdoll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week in the life of TOby. Based off the children's book _Diary of a Wombat_ by Jackie French.

**Monday  
**  
Morning: Sat.  
Afternoon: Sat.  
Evening: Stared into the void. Contemplated my misery.  
Night: Stared into the void. Sat.  
 **  
Tuesday  
**  
Morning: Sat.  
Afternoon: Sat.  
Evening: Stared into the void.  
Night: Stared into the void. Decided the void was just as boring as last week. Tried turning my head. No luck. Sat.  
 **  
Wednesday  
**  
Morning: Sat.  
Afternoon: Breezy day. Found that watching leaves float by freely only irritated me. Discovered that yelling at the wind still didn’t make it stop. Yelled anyway. Wished for some company. Stared into the void.  
Evening: Hoped someone would walk by. Wish irritatingly granted. Dial stopped to talk at me for way too long. Ignored him. Stared into the void. Sat.  
 **  
Thursday  
**  
Morning: Sat.  
Afternoon: Discovered I could read the book I was sitting on if I strained my eyes. Read it three times before getting bored. Tried to think how the story would continue. Imagination curiously resistant to storytelling. Muttered to myself about failed creativity until an idea hit. Continued story.  
Evening: Became curious as to what would happen if the wind pushed me off the ledge. Air was still. Sat.  
 **  
Friday  
**  
Morning: Sat  
Afternoon: Decided to count the letters on the books. Reached one thousand, three hundred and forty-two before the wind picked up. Fell backwards.  
Evening: Yelled at the wind again. No response. Wondered what the point of it all was.  
Night: Stared into the sky.  
 **  
Saturday  
**  
Morning: Stared into the sky some more.  
Afternoon: Rained. Became waterlogged and cold. Cursed the weather.  
Evening: Came up with even more reasons to hate the world. Never realised there were so many reasons to hate the world. Came up with more.  
Night: Ran out of new reasons. Lay there.  
 **  
Sunday  
**  
Morning: Lay there.  
Afternoon: Lay there.  
Evening: Stared into the sky. Lay there.  
Night: Dial returned. Why would I want this idiot to show up again? I’m happy with being alone and miserable, can’t you see this smile stitched on my face? Told him to go away. He refused. Am constantly amazed at how dumb he is. Suffered through him talking for one hour, three minutes and eleven seconds before he shut up. Told him to go away again. He listened, but said he’d be back in another day or two. Sat me up before leaving.  
Didn’t hate stitched smile. Stared into the void.  
Sat.


	14. Endings and Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final battle with Hate, the aftermath, the choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a prologue to two different AU's of mine, Accidental Reunion and Human Again (in that order). This also brings me up to date with my stories on tumblr, so updates are going to be much sparser. I do, however, have several other fics based in these two AUs on my blog but I don't plan on bringing them over here (except for Skating on Thin Ice, because that's long and already posted here).
> 
> Thanks for reading my stories!

“ _No!_ I won’t let you anymore, you have to _STOP!_ ”

The child hero stomped her foot, face scrunched in determination and concentration. Thousands of threads of pure white light arced up from the ground where Hero’s foot had fallen. They rose, flaring high into the air before darting downward, aiming straight for the monstrous form of Hate.

She shrieked, an unearthly howl that echoed around the ruins and stabbed at Hero’s ears, and tried to batter away the gleaming threads with clawed hands. Hero took another step forward and another wave of threads flew to join the rest, curling and wrapping the monster into a glowing cocoon. As the threads swarmed and swirled faster and faster they grew bright enough to be blinding. The young girl finally looked away, raising a hand to shield her eyes as rays of light radiated across the land; any Fears and Griefs and Rages caught in the beams dissolving as the light hit.

After what seemed like forever the glare abated, leaving a whimpering and powerless Hate trapped inside an egg-like cage. As Hero cautiously approached the smooth bars seemed to give off a faint glow, still radiating with the sheer power of imagination and kindness used to create them.

The girl was staring at the trapped monster, almost feeling sorry for her, when she felt a hand rest on her shoulder. Hero looked up to see RGB, clothes torn, dented head and a crack running through the top-left corner of his screen. But he was smiling. And he was alive; they both were.

Tears sprung to her eyes as she wrapped her arms around him, squeezing the taller man into a tight hug. She gave a small gasp in shock when, only a second later, she felt RGB scoop her up and hug back, holding her to his chest. Hero could feel him shaking slightly, whether from elated laughter or relieved crying she didn’t know.

After a few seconds the girl pulled away slightly to look the TV-headed man in what would be his face. She could have sworn she felt him say something, but all she could hear was a high-pitched whine that drowned out all other sound. Hero tried to speak, but the words felt heavy on her tongue when she couldn’t hear them.

She raised a hand to an ear, feeling something hot and wet trickling from it. An inspection of her fingertips showed they were stained with something almost like the red ink dripping from RGB’s screen. The very worst monster’s smile quickly curved downwards and he placed the girl on the ground once more, kneeling in front of her.

RGB whipped out a kerchief from his pocket, gently dabbing at the side of Hero’s head and staining the silk. The young girl could hear a slight buzzing, and as she watched the man show the concern he never had during their previous travels she realised it was RGB talking, his words slowly becoming clearer.

“-nothing big, just some blood but you’ll be fine, won’t you Hero?” he babbled. Hero raised a hand to stop the man’s daubing and smiled.

“‘course I’m fine. I’m the hero, right?” RGB’s smile returned as he wrapped her up into another awkward embrace.

“You did it, Hero,” he whispered, the cool facade of unattachment and logicality crumbling away completely. “You won. It’s over.”

After a few seconds he cleared his throat and pulled away, hands still resting on the girl’s shoulders.

“Now; let’s get you home, shall we?”

Hero nodded and RGB stood, guiding her back to the rounded cage holding Hate. She was lying prone on the ground, curled in a ball and silent. The self-proclaimed worst monster carefully reached an arm through the bars and into her pocket, pulling out a small, silver key. Hate didn’t react, not moving a millimetre as RGB stepped away with key in hand.

The man strode over to a gap between two ruined pillars, a translucent doorframe glimmering in the air as he drew closer. Above the door shone a square topped with a triangle, reminiscent of a young child’s drawing of a house. RGB smoothly unlocked the door, opening it to a world of white and standing back to let Hero through.

“It’s been a pleasure, Hero.” The man’s smile seemed warmer and more genuine than usual as he looked down at the child, although his voice was tinged with a melancholy tone. “I shall certainly never forget our adventure.”

_ʷᵉ ˢᵖᶫᶦᵗ⋅⋅⋅_

“Wait…” The girl paused in front of the door, looking up at her guide with a mixture of concern and puzzlement. “I… I don’t want to go.”

_we split…_

“Why on Earth not? This whole journey you’ve been pestering me about taking you home, now that’s what I’m doing. Hero, this is your chance.”

“But you’re not coming, are you?”

_WE SPLIT…_

*

RGB was taken aback at first, antennae drooping with the realisation of what Hero’s question truly meant. He had tried to get home before, more than once, but it had never worked. The monster pondered the notion for several seconds before shaking his head sadly and kneeling in front of the girl one last time.

“I can’t come, Hero; I’m sorry.”

“Then I won’t go! I’ll stay here with you and Madras and Julienne and we’ll find Assok again and… and…”

“And you need to go home. This isn’t your world, your quest is over, it’s the end of the story.”

Then he was engulfed in another desperate hug. RGB gently placed a torn glove on the girl’s head, ignoring the sizzling pixels from where her tears fell. When she spoke her voice was muffled by the monster’s chest.

“I don’t want it to end.”

The TV-headed man steeled himself, glancing up to the sky for strength before prying the girl off and standing. A supposedly cheerful smile curved his cracked screen as he snapped his fingers to summon his cane.

“Every story must end some day, Hero; they need to make room for new ones. Anyway, we’ll see each other again no doubt.”

“Really?” the girl asked hopefully, wiping an arm across her face.

“Really.”

“You’ll come visit? Promise?”

“I… promise.” RGB’s hesitation was slight enough that Hero didn’t notice it. The man didn’t like having to lie to the girl, but he suspected that without the untruth she would refuse to leave. _It was for her own good_ he rationalised. “Now, off you go. Spit-spot!”

Hero waved one last time, looking back over her shoulder as she stepped into the engulfing light on the other side of the door. As it swallowed her to door faded, key falling to the ground with a slight tinkle. RGB stooped to pick up the now useless key, weighing it in a hand for a moment before slipping it in his pocket and turning his back on the girl that saved the world.

He had other things to do, after all.

*

RGB was taken aback by the girl’s question at first, antennae sticking straight up in shock as the full meaning hit him. He’d tried several times to get home previously, all to no success, but never with one of the children. _Not that any of them got home either_ he thought. He pondered the notion for a while before ruffling the girl’s hair playfully, a cheerful smile curving his cracked screen.

“Is that an invitation?”

Hero immediately perked up, nodding rapidly as a smile slid across her features.

“Hmm, I suppose Madras and such will wonder where I’ve gone though…” The man frowned, patting at the pockets of his ruined suit before letting out an excited “Aha!”

He pulled out a small notebook and pen, quickly scribbling a message and ripping out a page. Folding it neatly in half the man placed it under a small rock next to the egg-like cage where it could easily be seen.

Turning back to Hero he clicked his fingers to summon his cane, catching it with a flourish and a twirl. The child giggled slightly at his enthusiasm, looking up at the man with a wide smile before they both faced the glowing doorway.

“What’s going to happen?”

“My dear Hero, I honestly don’t know. Rather thrilling, isn’t it?”

RGB smiled down at the girl, colours dripping from his screen for the last time. She slipped a small hand into a tattered glove and, for once, the man did not pull away. As they stepped forward together the white light engulfed them, taking them to a world so familiar and yet so alien.

Behind them a silver key tinkled to the ground, now useless. A slight breeze blew open a piece of paper, revealing handwriting that managed to be both flourishing and messy at the same time.

_Gone to find a new story._   
_-RGB_


	15. Put me down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hero sprains an ankle and RGB gets suitably melodramatic at the injury.

“Oh no! A sprained ankle! Whatever will we do?”

“RGB, stop it! It’s really sore.”

“Stoppit! Issor!”

“I may as well put you out of your misery right now, there’s no way we’ll be able to continue like this! Oh what a terrible tragedy!”

Hero pushed herself up from the ground, leaning heavily on a nearby tree for support. She scowled at her guide as he paced along the section of path. RGB meanwhile was performing the most melodramatic gestures he could manage. His words were as saturated with sarcasm as his mouth was with colour.

“How will you survive with such a grievous injury? Oh, you’re so brave, and so- _OW!_ ”

While the telly-head was busy hamming it up, Hero had shaken off most of the pain and limped over to him, delivering a sharp kick to the monster’s ankle. The pair glared at each other for several seconds before Assok interrupted them.

“Argee-bee injaree!”

A slight smile crept onto their faces and they turned back to the path without another word. Onwards they trekked, neither acknowledging the slight limp the other had.


	16. I think he's getting better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RGB stops by the House of Paint with an unconscious Dial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *tries to shove as many references to the ['bring out your dead'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=grbSQ6O6kbs) skit as possible*

“You really need to stop leaving dead bodies in my kitchen, RGB, you know they belong in the cool room instead of the pantry.”

“Hardie-har-hah. Anyway, he’s not dead yet.”

“Really?” The merchant slathered her question in mock surprise, bringing a hand up to her open mouth to punctuate the word further. RGB glare daggers at her, or gave the sense that he was doing so anyway. It was slightly hard to tell with his lack of eyes and all. “And here was me thinking you’d finally worked out the courage to shut your cousin up once and for all.”

“If I really wanted him gone he’d be stone dead in an instant.” The telly-head slumped his shoulder, allowing the limp body of Dial to flop onto the tiled floor. “Can we stay here for the night? There’s a pack of fears roaming nearby.”

“Well, it’s normally against my regulations to let visitors stay at the House of Paint overnight…”

“Call it a favour?”

Madras busied herself with making a pot of tea for a minute, judging just how much she’d be able to get from the man. Several groans and mutterings came from the body on the ground, the radio man starting to stir.

“I’ll call it nine ounces. And you have to come back on Thursday to help me with stocktake.”

A puff of static escaped the man’s speaker as he sighed, leaning back against the bench and nudging his cousin with a shoe.

“Isn’t there something _he_ can do?”

“..aaie… ffl…uhhpi…” came the face-down mumblings of the ‘he’.

Madras looked down at Dial and realised she had just as little desire to see him conscious as RGB no doubt did. She reached up to grab one of her less-expensive tea pots, walked closer to the two men, stared RGB straight in the screen

And dropped the teapot directly on Dial’s head.

His mutterings immediately ceased as he was knocked unconscious again. The self-proclaimed worst monster raised an antenna in question, but it was met only by an exceptionally smug smirk.

“ _He_ can get me a new teapot.”

“Well… at least tonight will be peaceful. Thanks very much for that.”

“I’ll see you on Thursday then.”


	17. Hush, go back to sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RGB has trouble sleeping; Magnus comforts him.
> 
> (3-sentence fic)

Dark, inverted, jagged, _wrong_ ; RGB ran through the landscape, the echoes of clipped and distorted voices ringing in his head as he tried and failed to flee. He woke with a start, static sparks crackling on his screen, only to have a familiar hand soothingly stroke his headboard and shining voice speak softly.

“Hush, go back to sleep; I’ll make sure no more dreams disturb you.”


	18. Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RGB sings one last goodbye to an injured Hero
> 
> (warning for extreme feels and implied character death)

He knew it was going to turn out this way from the very beginning. For him it was a matter of life or death; for her it was only one of the two.

They’d won, but he’d hardly call this winning anymore.

“R… RGB?”

The man started at the sound. Her voice was weak, yes, but it wasn’t gone yet. There was still hope.

The very worst monster, he had certainly earned that title by now, knelt beside the girl, lifting her upper body into his lap and cradling her head in his arms. His white gloves would be stained, but that didn’t matter right now. She winced at the movement, eyes scrunching in pain, but there was little he could do but offer formless apologies.

“I’m here, Hero. It’s o…” His words trailed off. He’d never lied to her before, and even comforting ones didn’t sound right at this stage.

“It-” She was interrupted by a series of wracking coughs, each one shaking her thin -she was always so painfully _thin_ \- body and causing her to try and curl up in the foetal position. “It hurts.”

“I know it does, my Hero, but you’ve got to hold on. I know I’ve got a dream here somewhere.”

Frantically patted pockets and rocky ground scoured for stray vials returned nothing. RGB cast his gaze around, desperately searching for something to help the girl he had thrown out his only rule for.

_Don’t get attached…_

He hadn’t meant to throw it out. Never had, never did. But it almost always happened, only not to quite this extent. A small touch here, a kindness there; little things that built up and went more or less unnoticed until a wave of… of _fondness_ crashed over him. Until it was too late for either of them.

“RGB?” Barely a whisper now, but with how alert he was to her ragged breathing and fluttering pulse he’d never miss it.

“Yes?” Too rushed, too frantic.

“What’s going to happen?”

“I… I don’t know…” Was it a lie? He wasn’t even sure anymore. She wouldn’t become like many of the others. They hadn’t ended, merely changed and become part of the world. Trapped forever with memories faded and lives lost nearly as much as if they _had_ ended, but still there. Not her, though.

“Oh…” Her silence lasted long enough that the man felt panic welling in his chest. _Did she..? She couldn’t have, not yet, no, she can’t be-_ “…can you sing to me?”

“Ah. I’m a-afraid I don’t have that good a voice…”

“‘sokay, ‘m not worried.”

She turned slightly, using her dwindling strength to bury her face into the warmth of his chest. _Why was she so cold?_

RGB scoured his mind for something, anything he could sing to the girl as comfort, but every one of the hundreds of songs he knew fled from his mind. Memories of adventure popped up instead; from waking up to idea slobber on his screen, to facing down packs of fears, to zipping down a rope from a tree blazing with life, brighter than even the-

Got one.

His voice started low, hesitant and stuttering at first, choked by the emotions he hid in speech but that the music brought out. By the third line he got into the swing of it, crooning a lullaby filled with the apologies he could never truly say.

_“Sunshine, you are my sunshine_   
_You make me happy when skies are grey_   
_You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you_   
_So please don’t take my sunshine away”_

A small, sad smile could be seen at the edge of the girl’s lips, the rest of her face obscured either by his shirt or by brown hair that no longer floofed up as it had before.

_“Sunshine, you are my sunshine”_

He never could remember anything more than the chorus. It was okay; it repeated well, and she seemed to be listening to the reverberations in his chest more than the actual words.

_“You make me happy when skies are grey”_

Her muscles twitched as if she tried to to curl closer into the man’s embrace but was too weak to do so. He scooped her tighter against him as much for himself as for her.

_“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you”_

A hitched breath, a slight fizzle of static on his belly. His shirt must have gotten damp in the fight. Yes. During the fight.

_“So please don’t take my sunshine away”_

He was curled around her protectively now, unseeing, unhearing, unknowing of anything but an everlasting tune and a delicate heartbeat.

_“Sunshine, you are my sunshine_   
_You make me happy when skies are grey_   
_You’ll never know quite how much I love you…”_

The tune hitched, something missing.

_“Please don’t take my sunshine away.”_

And then his world went dark.


	19. Too Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo discovers the unconscious and heavily injured body of Argyle B. Guide. Things only seem to go downhill from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place in Rusharound's [Scooter's Crew AU](http://rusharound.tumblr.com/tagged/Argyle+B.+Guide). As such, there is more than a slight change in writing style and a lot of setting changes. You should definitely read the other stories in the AU, or at least [this post](http://rusharound.tumblr.com/post/102206976148/yo-rush-ive-got-a-question-to-ask-you-the-tpoh).
> 
> Warnings for violence and blood. This is not a happy story.

They had gone too far this time.

A light rain fell soundlessly from the sky, dampening the air more than the ground it landed on. On top of a sagging pile of soggy cardboard boxes lay the unmoving figure of Argyle B. Guide, sprawled amongst the rubbish like a ragdoll abandoned by a child too old. His face was a patchwork mess of purple, crimson and pale, pale skin, miraculously unblemished after the beating.

A single fluorescent light flickered sporadically, fighting against the prevailing darkness but not quite managing to push back its inky tendrils for further than a few feet below it. Despite the futile battle the lamp fought on, lighting the scene underneath in a stark contrast. Shadows were harsh on the angles of the limp body, cutting everything in to black and white with little inbetween.

Jo was deeply grateful she could blame the rain for the drips running down her cheek as she stood watching the tableau. It was only when she saw the unconscious man’s chest move slightly that she worked up the courage to move herself. Trembling hands belying her otherwise calm exterior, she reached over and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. She silently prayed that they hadn’t broken his collarbone else she would only be doing more damage.

The broken man didn’t stir at the touch, nor when she lightly slapped his face. Jo was freely crying at this point, the salty drops falling fat and heavy on his blazer. Never in all the time the other crew members had performed their ritualistic beatdowns had it ever gotten this bad. If it weren’t for the slight puffs of air she could feel on her hand or the faint heartbeat fluttering in his chest the actress would have sworn he was dead.

“Argyle. Wake up.” Jo’s voice was even and she was thankful she had so much practice in keeping a straight face during times like these. “Argyle, get up, now.”

Still no reaction. Jo removed one of the many colourful scarves from her costume, glad to be rid of the useless scrap of fabric, and started dabbing at the man’s forehead. Nearly everyone had gone home, and right now she couldn’t care if they spotted her with the most hated man on set. A niggling thought gnawed at the edge of her mind, reminding her she would end up in a very similar position if she was spotted but she pushed it away.

The flickering light dulled the colours, but a sanguine stain could still be seen seeping through the pale and perforated fabric of Argyle’s shirt. A frown finally creased Jo’s face and she pulled away the blazer to get a better look at the injury.

Oh.

Oh dear.

“ _Someone call an ambulance!_ ”

There was far too much blood seeping from a still hidden wound for this to go untreated. The whole of Argyle’s back was soaked in crimson where the liquid had dripped downwards, following the pull of gravity and permeating the cardboard beneath him. The coppery smell wafted up, filling Jo’s nose with the stench and her stomach with the feeling to empty itself.

She fought the urge, instead going to unbutton the man’s shirt and get a proper look at the wound. Peeling away the sodden fabric, she couldn’t look for more than a second before turning away with slender fingers covering her mouth. Jo wasn’t a doctor of any kind, but she knew that much blood on the outside of the body was normally not a good thing. His body spasmed and she jerked away instinctually. A rattling cough escaped his lips before he once again settled into an unmoving state, but it was not alone. A trickle of scarlet ran from the corner of his mouth, and flecks of spittle and blood contrasted pale lips.

Stumbling away from the prone form of her secret friend, Jo ran inside the main building in the hopes of finding a telephone of some kind. Something in her screamed _Don’t leave him!_ but she knew she would never be any help on her own.

Her footsteps echoed through the empty set, bouncing off equipment and props abandoned for the day. A single light still shone in the office, and Jo sent up another silent thanks that the Mr. Producer had to stay late to approve scripts again. Pausing for a second in front of his door to collect herself, she knocked a series of frantic raps on his door and burst in before he even had time to finish his ‘Come in.’

“There is a slight situation you may want to know about, Mr. Producer. May I please borrow your phone?”

There was the brusque questioning why, the hurried but calm explanation, the disbelief, the reassuring and reminder and finally the phone call. As soon as the operator confirmed that an ambulance was indeed on it’s way Jo and the Mr. Producer swiftly walked back to Argyle’s prone form; the former barely keeping enough control over herself to not break into a run.

Mr. Producer lacked the self control of the actress and, after seeing the blood, made a dash for the nearest bin to lose his lunch in. Jo stood back from the almost-corpse, arms folded and body trembling like a leaf in an autumn breeze; just as ready to fall. She must not touch. Not with the Mr. Producer so close. Half-moon marks marred her skin, blood beading where lacquered keratin bit into fleshy forearms.

Time is a strange thing, twisting and turning and flying and crawling like any manner of creatures. Time itself is a creature of its own, following rules known only to itself and acting as such a fickle thing. Some people never see enough of it, and for others it is everywhere, shedding seconds on the carpet and dragging moments out as unwanted gifts.

As Jo stood in the damned dampened air, watching the man she couldn’t admit she loved bleed while waiting for the strobes of red and blue rescue, she cursed that creature. There was too much of it when unwanted and nowhere near enough past. Or future.

Time seemed to heed the woman’s wishes, slinking off with it’s nose in the air. As she blinked she was no longer standing in the rain but sitting in the passenger seat of the Mr. Producer’s car. Another blink, another change in scene, as if the great director of the universe was editing out the unimportant, unneeded, uninteresting frames of her life. A hard plastic chair cut into her legs as she perched on the edge of the seat. Heated words spilled from the next room over, doing nothing to thaw the chill settled in her heart. Some small part of her disassociated mind told her it was the Mr. Director and the Mr. Producer. The rest of her mind didn’t listen of course.

She focused on the white tiles, not quite even and not quite clean. She focused on the white people, in aprons and coats with stethoscopes and clipboards, rushing from here to there to here once more. She focused on the white flowers, then wished she hadn’t. Lilies reminded her too much of what she was most purposely _not_ focusing on.

Her mind spiralled along myriad pathways, what ifs and how coulds and what abouts scattering themselves and shattering themselves against thoughts both hopeful as innocence and dark as cynicism. She questioned the whys and rejected the answer she no longer wished to believe. Her body emptied as her mind filled, one losing soul while the other became heavy with worry.

Time crept back in, warping things around the woman in a futile attempt to get a reaction. Hours passed in less than a blink and more than an eternity and she didn’t even move when a man in a white coat stood before her physical self and spoke. She did not hear, of course. She was floating off somewhere, far away, attempting to escape her worries but only becoming more entrapped.

Her bonds shattered at a touch, a warm hand on her shoulder tugging at the link and forcing mind back into body. Silence became muffled sounds became blurred words became clear.

“Ma’am, ma’am wake up.” She hadn’t been asleep, not that it really mattered. Eyes pinkened from withheld tears focused on the man leaning down towards her. “You’re with the man in operating room three, correct?”

“No.” Wrong answer. “Yes.” Still bad. “I’m a work colleague.” Better. Keep a hold of yourself. Focus.

“I see. I’m here to inform you that the surgery went-”

A micropause, a held breath, a thousand universes where it went wrong and far too few where it went right. It was as if the universe took the grudge He had against life personally, purposely pushing anything positive away and antagonising Him and those around Him, determined to turn Him into the ghost he so resembled.

“-well.”

She released the breath, fighting the urge to double over and hold head between knees in relief. Maybe the universe didn’t hate him that much after all. She held on to that maybe, clutching it to her chest until she could to the same to Him. Jo didn’t care what else the man before her had to say and let his words wash over her without grabbing at their meaning.

“ _… clear signs of… fractures… knife… lucky he… bruising… punctured lung… almost… bleeding… survive… Would you like to see him?_ ”

Jo abruptly stood, the man, the doctor man, taking a step back in shock. The world spun and she closed her eyes, reaching a hand back to lean on the wall until balance returned. Thankfully her logic returned first. Although so much of her wanted to stay there were other things that needed doing.

“No, I’d better get going. The misters Producer and Director will want to know what happened.” A movement to leave, a hesitation. “Er, what time is it?”

“Nearly five in the morning.”

Jo blinked, hearing the snickers of Time in the back of her mind. She definitely had to go, she was expected on set in less than an hour, to be chewed out by the costume ladies for the sanguine stains on her skirts; to ridicule and be ridiculed with cameras rolling; to face questions she didn’t have answers to and present a face of apathy and normality. However little she wanted to leave, the lack of weight in her purse reminded her of her purpose.

She resolved to return the next day, adding weekends to the ever-growing list of things to be thankful for, and strode away from the white walls and disinfectant smell permeating them. There was work to be done, and she could not do so while still clinging to the feelings meant to be left there. For now she must be the Tambourine Lady, the name Jojo all but forgotten.

So the Tambourine Lady nodded at the beratings of the costumers. The Tambourine Lady answered questions from the Mr Producer to the best of her ability when the Mr Director complained about the lack of his star. The Tambourine Lady listened and watched and waited for her cue, almost taking place of the curiously absent ghost.

For his curious absence was noted. The Tambourine Lady took note of that. There were awkward and worried glances at the empty chair, calls and cues for someone not there before the caller corrected themselves. Stagehands and cameramen and one or two of the vulturous interns chuckled and smirked and frowned and sweated as the day went on and still the chair remained occupantless. The Tambourine Lady took note of this, too.

But mostly the Tambourine Lady smiled and danced and spun, tapping her namesake against rounded hips and making love to the cameras, dropping back into lifeless observation the second someone yelled ‘cut!’. Mostly she waited for the day to end.

When it did she remained empty. She remained empty throughout the bus ride to her dingy apartment, throughout the landlord shouting after rent, throughout the unjamming of her door and the dumping of her bag on the small table just inside. It was not until she slid the bolt across to bar the world from her and her from the world that she allowed the cloud of emotions and exhaustion hovering above her head to descend.

That night she did not sleep, merely switched herself off and allowed her body to slip into unconsciousness. Her bedsheets gained several tear-stains as her limbs clung to the pillow clutched at her chest.

*

“These painkillers are doing absolutely nothing.”

“Stop complaining or the doctor man will hear. While I must admit you’re far more pleasant company when you’re unconscious, sedatives tend to make you very boring.”

“Oh, ha ha.”

However weak it was, Jo could hear the smile in his voice. It was such a strange note to hear amongst his words, not quite mixing with the usual resignation and cigarette smoke, but it was as far from unpleasant as could be. She stopped resisting her own lips’ want to curve, ready to blame it on the book she wasn’t reading if he dare commented. She sat in a chair next to his cot, furiously not ignoring him, he likewise stared at the ceiling and didn’t think about how nice it was to have her there.

“Producer Fella’s been talking about giving you the pink slip. Says it’s to give you time to recover.”

“Probably because hospital bills aren’t the cheapest and the studio doesn’t want to get landed with them.”

“Hm, that certainly sounds more likely.”

The companionable quiet that had settled over the pair began to thicken and curdle with unsaid words. Soon the air was palpably heavy, laden and viscous, stirred by awkward glances and unmade motions to speak, waiting to be cut by the knife Jo wielded on her tongue.

“You don’t have to go back you know.”

The words were so quiet even she doubted they had ever been spoken. But they had, and they’d been heard, however much she wished they hadn’t. The healing man turned his head away fractionally, coral hair coming loose and tumbling into eyes refusing to look at the utterer of the near heresy.

For minutes and aeons the silence stretched on, providing unwelcome answers to questions unasked, the air filling with conversation unhad and unneeded and unwanted. Jo stared resolutely at the novel in her hands, trying to fill her mind with words of paper and ink instead of pain and regret. The hope of a response, however, of an agreeance; well that was the most painful.

“When?”

“Tuesday. If you’re not back for filming by lunchtime they’ll find someone else.”

And then it was as if her words never existed in the first place but for the persisting thoughts they left in their wake.

“I’ll be there.”

*

He slipped back onto set as the dawn tinged the horizon, the rosy fingers stained with smog as his own were with nicotine. Shallow breaths and stiff movements hidden with clothing slightly too large on his wiry frame, bruises tended to with a powder-painted mask of normality. The doctor man would realise he was missing, of course, but the show was more important than he.

And so the show went on.

Dirty glances were flung like knives, he was used to that. He was used to the long periods of nothing interspersed with brief minutes of bright lights and brighter smiles, too. He was not, however much he would argue otherwise, quite used to the pain, and certainly not this much of it.

But the show must go on.

Cracking knuckles and angered fists were quelled by harsh whispers, going unnoticed by the man but not by the woman perpetually keeping a subtle eye on him. He merely waited for the day to come to a close, she waited for to trouble brewing to come to a head and wished she would not have to see the effects up close.

And so it went on.

Each night the spotlights dimmed with the sky, people trickling to home or to bars and the man sloping off to a cramped trailer at the edge of the lot. A generous serving of something amber and dulling was sloshed into a glass and gulped back with several white tablets, deep breaths taken for the first time in hours but tainted with tar and ash. The mask dropping and pain creasing brow and knitting forehead and clenching hands. And exhaustion.

Each night when time enough had passed, the creature turning tail and slinking away with nose in the air, she would edge behind a narrow trailer on the outskirts of the property. A step and a squeeze and she was inside, peering through the dark for familiar shapes. She’d curl up under the mess of sheets with the already unconscious man, careful to avoid the embrace she wanted to give that would only hurt him more. And sleep.

*

They found her on the Friday. One said something about Him being off-limits. One said it was only for now. One said they were impatient. One said they’d been more observant than she’d been cautious.

One said there was more than one way to hurt a man.

She spat the crimson copper from her mouth, tears and saliva and mucus smearing on the sleeve dragged across her face. Her body blossomed with pain at every movement, radiating a stabbing and throbbing heat as if the sun itself was burning inside her. Trembling and tired, she tried to push herself back up only to slip down again without them even there to push. Hair hung limp in her eyes, forming a curtain of pink as if the strands could block out the world, the danger, the hurt.

They had gone easy on her. They had said so. She did not give them the same courtesy, which was her undoing. When nails broke from clawing she kicked, but her costume had not been suited for war. They had not stopped until she stopped trying to get back up. Until she learn the lesson she was meant to pass on.

The tambourine lay next to her, finger cymbals bent and wood dented. Broken as much as it’s wielder. The props department would not be pleased in the slightest. Neither would costuming, nor make up. Even without the scratches and tears and bruises they would not be happy. Not now they all knew she had thrown her lot in with Him.

Up she struggled, and up she stood, whole being wracked with sporadic shivers as she fought herself into submission to her mind. Back straight. Head up. Face calm. Walk gracefully. No tears. No tears. No. Tears.

She avoided him that night, choosing the trek to her dilapidated flat over his concern. She avoided him the next day, knowing her make up would not pass his close scrutiny. She avoided him until her heart and mind could not handle it any longer, crawling through the small window and into his trailer Monday night.

He was awake, thoughts of worry burdening his mind enough that even healing injuries could not make him rest. But there was no shock when he heard her enter, there never was anything but relief. Until he saw her properly, unblinded by bright lights or camera lenses. She could never quite manage the same level of mask as he could.

Denial, of course, followed by a throwaway apology and a brush-off of the topic. Claims of tiredness, a tender kiss that lead to nothing because of bruises neither would admit to. Quiet talk of nothing and everything as they lay curled together, staring into the space beyond the flimsy walls of the trailer. Sleep slowly descended, claiming one while the other resisted that much longer.

The broken man gently pulled up at the hem of the injured woman’s shirt, slow and caring so as not to wake her. Even in the faint light cast by a dying lamp bulb he could see the discolourations the makeup didn’t reach. Fingers traced the mars and blotches on once-golden skin, as if they could be wiped away at his touch, as if he could wipe the experience from her body, her mind.

Sleep soon claimed him too, irritated at the disobedience and bringing punishment in it’s wake. But nightmares were always a regular occurrence for him. Something dark and shadowed stirred within his subconscious, rose, bringing with it a stark morality and a starker plan to seed.

The next evening found the man sitting on the edge of his bed, shamboo cane resting lightly in gloved hands. His stare was focused, sharp as wit and pointed inwards. Memories flashed in his head, a montage of pain and reprisal from childhood canings and more recent beatings. A fake weapon was still a weapon in the end. A glass of liquid courage was grabbed, the fluid burning his throat and settling in his stomach like an angered dragon. And a dragon must protect its treasure.

Their qualms were not with her, it was time to make them pay.

After all, they had gone too far this time.


	20. Worth it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dial and RGB used to be great friends. _Used_ to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for character death and implied suicide. I also seem to be incapable of writing happy stories. Sorry 'bout that.

The cousins used to get along with each other brilliantly. They were inseparable; the best of friends. Forever tuning in to each other’s shows whenever possible.

One kept a small radio in his trailer. You wouldn’t think he’d be able to get a signal from the other side of the country; but he knew about a small, less-than-legal company willing to boost the over-played tunes and tacky accent across states. For a fee of course.

And it was worth it.

The other hurried home every Friday night. A battle with the rarely used television that only picked up sound if you tilted the antenna _just so_ , followed by half an hour of laughing too loud and grinning back at the familiar face on the screen. There was always a twinge of sadness that smiles couldn’t be shared in person, and he’d missed more than one night out with friends.

But it was worth it.

***

They’d always been called troublemakers.

On the farm they’d play tag on the stacks of hay; try, and fail, skimming rocks across the pond; go on adventures and get up to mischiefs and do all the things that young boys did. The crotchety old lady on the next farm over said they’d never amount to anything. That was probably what spurred the younger cousin into his search for fame.

In the city they’d get lost and get in trouble, or attempt to anyway. There were always too many landmarks, too many people willing to help out this “nice young boy with the glasses, oh now aren’t you friendly, and such a cute accent too, you and your friend run along now”. That cheeky cheerfulness and habit of always knowing how to fill a silence was what set him on his path.

It was long and hard and they had to fight for their purposes, but it was happiness of a sort. It was all worth it in the end.

Right up until the point when it wasn’t.

***

He was in Brooklyn when he found out. When he imagined how the rushing air and slamming into the river must have felt. From that height it would have been like landing on concrete, and just as deadly. The newspaper was thrown into the bin with no little force; his lunch break was over anyway.

He cracked while on air only an hour later. A week later he shattered into a thousand pieces.

It was a much shorter fall than the one his best friend had gone through. But it was just as planned, just as sharp, just as much of a show. His feet never touched the ground again, either.

A small part of him liked that symmetry. Even though he was the elder of the pair, the plans had always come from the other boy. Hand in hand with trouble, of course, but that’s what made them adventures.That’s what made him follow along. Well, that and his now broken promise to keep him safe.

Without him and his plans it just wasn’t worth it anymore.

***

“Look, I don’t know who you’re trying to fool here but that cane is barely worth _two_ nightmares, nevermind five”

“Yeh can snap yer fingers, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then it’s worth five nightmares. Hand ‘em over or clear off.”

There is one place in any world where everyone passes through eventually. Wait long enough and you’ll find who you’re looking for. In this world he had been told it was the Market, so he waited. He did what he did best; even in this new body of metal and wiring he was still _him_ , or a version of him anyway. So he talked, made friends, found out about this world and the people -no, monsters- living there. And he waited.

Even with the distortion of an unfamiliar head, that voice stood out. Nearly as much as the arguing did, in fact.

“Cousin?”

It was definitely him, he even wore the same style of eye-searing suits as he did back when… as he used to. The TV-headed monster turned to look at the new speaker, perplexed.

“Sorry, do I know you?”

“Cuz! Oh I just _knew_ you’d turn up here one a these days! Long time, no see you ol’ troublemaker!”

The shorter man stiffened at the embrace, stunned by the apparent stranger’s forwardness. But the hug was bony and warm, just a bit too tight… and altogether far too familiar. When the dishevelled pulled back, hands still resting on the other’s shoulders, he was radiating grins.

“Cousin? Are you..?”

“Far as I know! D’ya remember playin’ on the farm as kids? And how missus Wilkins always used ta yell at us for stealing her apples? Woo, they were some bitter fruits! But it was worth it for the look on her face! And what about when- umph!”

He was cut off when the man, the boy from his childhood, wrapped him in another tight hug. The TV-headed monster buried his face in the rumpled clothing covering his cousin’s thin frame, hiding how the cyan ink dripped a little more freely from his screen than usual. Moment of weakness over he stepped back, usual smile curving his screen.

“It’s wonderful to see you again; pity I can’t remember your name for the life of me.”

“‘salright! I can’t remember it either! Don’t remember yours too.” replied the taller man with a laugh. “Dial’s the name now though. Thought it pretty darn fitting with the whole… well…” He gestured to himself with a shrug, the aura of smiles never leaving as his ‘on air’ sign glowed bright.

“I’m RGB here.”

“Well ain’t that a mouthful! Suits you as much as those fancy duds do. So whatcha doin’ in these parts?”

“Oh, just getting some equipment before I head off again.” A thought zipped through RGB’s mind and a frown curved his face. Antenna lowered in suspicion, he side-eyed his cousin. “What about you? What are you doing here?”

“Waitin’ around for you of course! They said everyone turns up here eventually and you’re part of everyone just as much as the next monster.”

“Dial, that’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“Can’t say I do, cuz.” Dial feigned obliviousness, sensing the anger brewing in the other man.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Dial…”

RGB’s voice was low, dangerous; fury seething beneath invisible skin. Not all of it was directed at the man doing his best to look nonchalant, however. Death had by no means lessened his ability to hate himself. Dial, of course, would have started whistling if he still had the lips to do so.

“Why. Did. You. Do it.”

“‘cause I couldn’t let you turn up at the pearly gates alone now, could I? You’re my little cousin, it’s my job ta look out for you.”

***

Was it worth it to see the hatred, the shock, the disappointment? That slight step back and twitch of the hands saying ‘stop, no, don’t come closer’? Was it worth the scathing quips and gaze avoidance, the disdain and evasion?

What about, years later, the forced smiles and pseudo-cheerful greetings on their rare meetings. The reluctance to be touched, to chat, to laugh. To be friends again. Was it worth all that?

But dead men don’t have blood, so what’s to say they were even family anymore but for tradition and slowly fading memories? Old identities were forgotten and all that remained were words and hatred and longing for a better time; interactions barely making sense outside of a context of ‘that’s how it’s always been’.

Was it worth it when the only times he heard of his cousin were stories of stories of a rebel and thief fighting for a lost cause?

No.

The purpose he saw him with as he accompanied those children to their dooms in an attempt to stop this world from ending, however?

Getting to see _that_ was worth it.


End file.
